


one way or another

by ketabat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Compliant, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19782712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: Billy. Billy's the embodiment of trouble, with his messy dirty blond hair and striking blue eyes that can easily bring a nation to its knees. He's a bully. A tyrant. Brutal with his fists and even meaner with his words. A flippant dickhead who would trade his sister for a packet of cigarettes without thinking twice.or, steve takes care of billy.





	one way or another

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO. 
> 
> ok just to make it clear, I'm new to the ST fandom, newer to the Harringrove(?) fandom, and I'm still trying to grasp the characterisation so bear with me. 
> 
> this is set somewhere between s2 and s3 where Max wasn't /that/ accepted into the group and well, uh, Billy wasn't dead. 
> 
> also, I wrote this in less than an hour and it isn't beta-read so excuse the mistakes. :)

“Get that out of—” Steve huffs, removing his hand from the steering wheel to push the slurpee Dustin’s shoving in his face incessantly. “I’m _driving!_ ”

Dustin doesn’t relent, starts moving it in tantalising circles instead. Then it explodes without warning and Steve slams down on the brakes with a muttered _fuck._

Silence ensues. Dustin sits back, looking guilty. Steve looks in the rearview, right at El, whose nose is trickling blood. Beside her, Lucas and Will are trying to stifle their laughs and Mike is already far gone. “Aight listen up” Steve says after a contemplative pause. “That whole…” he makes wild gesticulations in the air, a travesty of Eleven’s powers. “Thing” he settles on saying. “Don’t do that in my car.”

Eleven wipes the back of her hand over her nose, then fixes him with a glare through the mirror, the words _who’s going to stop me?_ going unsaid. He tries staring back, gives up a second later and clears his throat, starting the car again. “And no—” he snatches the half-empty slurpee from Dustin and throws it out the window. “Drinks in my car either.”

He reaches for the radio, turns the music up and drowns out Dustin’s grousing.

...

He takes his time driving home after dropping the kids off at their respective houses. He drives slower than usual, makes a few stops to impede his getting there.

Truth is, he hates the sense of isolation his house brings him. The utter and all-consuming loneliness that crushes his lungs when the emptiness of it rings in his ears.

In the distance, he catches sight of long orange hair and a skateboard tucked beneath an arm.

_Max._

He’s not familiar with her. Knows her name, knows she has a very shitty brother — _Billy_ — who nearly broke his face, and knows she definitely has the hots for Lucas Sinclair. But that’s about it.

Nonetheless, he slows his car down until he’s driving abreast of her. He peeks out the window. “Max?”

Max doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t so much as glance his way.

“Need a ride?” Steve asks, ducking his head to look at her. “It’s getting late. Your parents—”

“I can take care of myself!” Max interrupts. “Leave me alone.”

Steve suppresses the urge to roll his eyes at her antics. She may be Billy’s _step_ sister, but they definitely have an attitude and temper in common. “I’ll tell you what Sinclair has to say about you” he tries.

She comes to an abrupt stop and turns to look at him, her blue eyes roving over his face pensively for any sign of a bluff. Finding none, she rolls her eyes and climbs into his BMW.

...

It’s a little past 4 when Steve pulls over in front of the Hargroves’ residence. Max is tamping down her smile in a (failed) attempt to hide her glee about her one-sided crush not being as one-sided as she thought as she climbs out of the car.

Steve reaches back for her skateboard and hands it to her through the window.

“Thanks” she says, quiet, like it took her a great portion of her dignity to let the word out.

In lieu of replying, Steve offers her a two-finger salute.

“Who’s this?”

Steve’s quick to comb his fingers through his hair, trying to look presentable to Mrs. Hargrove, who leans down to peer through the open window. She gives Steve a smile, groceries gathered in her arms.

Max’s muttering an introduction that goes unheard by both her mother and Steve.

“Mrs. Hargrove!” Steve exclaims. “Hi. I’m Steve. I’m uh—” _how the fuck does he introduce himself without sounding like a creep?_ “I’m a friend of Billy’s.” Billy’s going to kill him for it, but saying he’s his friend is a much better option than the out of context truth.

“Oh!” Mrs. Hargrove says, surprise clear in the way her brows rise before she blinks twice in a row. “Thank you for bringing Maxie home. I didn’t know Billy had friends.”

Max snorts, murmurs a low _who would want to be friends with that dick?_ under her breath.

“Well, since you’re here, would you like to come in?” Mrs. Hargrove offers. “Billy isn’t home yet, but dinner will be ready in a little.”

Steve swipes his tongue over his lips, glancing at their house before settling his eyes back on Susan. The idea of homemade food makes nostalgia curl tight in his chest. “I wouldn’t want to intrude—” he shakes his head, shakes the idea off.

“Nonsense!” She interrupts, jolly and loud. “Come on. I won’t take no for an answer.”

...

His leg’s bouncing beneath the dining table, an awkward smile settled on his face as he looks at his plate for distraction from the way Mr. Hargrove is staring him down. “How do you know Billy again?”

Steve clears his throat, looking up. Neil Hargrove looks strict. Mean to some extent. But it isn’t the same meanness Billy characteristically holds. It’s more severe and unnerving and it makes Steve’s toes curl in his shoes.

“School” he says tersely. “We share uh— history and physics classes.”

Neil nods, slow and appraising, like he doesn’t believe a single word coming out of Steve’s mouth.

Max has an elbow propped on the table, cheek braced on her fist as she plays around with her food.

The front door opens, and although Steve should be scared shitless of what Billy has to say about their _friendship,_ he mostly feels relieved that he’s here to break the tension.

Billy stops at the doorway, lets his gaze flitter over his step-mother and father’s backs, then Max before he perches his blue eyes on Steve.

His lips twitch with an amused smirk that has Steve looking back down at his food, chewing vigorously. “This is lovely, Mrs. Hargrove” he says hastily, nearly choking on his words.

Susan waves the compliment away, opening her mouth to thank him, but Billy is quick to interrupt.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Susan goes stiff, her ‘thank you’ melting to a ‘no worries, Billy’ that Billy pointedly ignores as he plops down in the chair next to Steve’s.

“Hello, Harrington” he says absently, tucking his chair in.

“Billy” Steve greets. And if Billy’s dad had any suspicions about the relationship his son and Steve share, they were confirmed by the tenseness of Steve’s greeting compared with Billy’s airiness.

Neil puts his fork down, chewing slowly as he looks at his son. “Would you like to tell us why your friend here was the one to drive Max home?” He asks.

Steve tenses.

“Steve just—” Max begins, but is quickly interrupted by her stepfather.

“I’m talking to your brother, Maxine” he says, abrasive, his eyes not once leaving Billy.

Billy shrugs as he pours himself some food, but he’s sitting _right next to Steve._ And Steve would have to be blind not to see the way his hand trembles for a second, leg bouncing arrhythmic and _fast._

“Sir, I was the one who insi—” Steve starts. He doesn’t know if Billy has an actual reason or if he was just fooling around with some chick somewhere, but he didn’t want to be the cause of anything.

“I forgot” Billy says, breaking off whatever shitty excuse Steve was improvising.

“You…for _got_ ” Neil says slowly. He pushes his plate away, sits back in his seat.

Susan reaches for his arm, wanting to calm him down. And Steve is relieved to see the confusion he’s feeling mirrored on Maxine’s face, who’s suddenly sitting upright and is looking between Neil and Billy as if she just had a sort of revelation. “It was nice meeting you, Steve” Neil says, eyes lingering on Billy for just a moment longer before moving onto Steve, fake smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “But it’s getting late. Your parents must be worried.”

Steve knows Neil doesn’t give a fuck what his parents must be feeling, knows the statement is just a nice way of telling him to leave. So he downs what’s left of his coke and pats the table twice before bringing himself to stand. “Thank you for having me” he says politely. Then looks at Billy, who seems too preoccupied by his meal. “I’ll see you at school” he goes on, only to solidify their pretence.

On his way out, the clattering of utensils stops and there’s a silence that reminds Steve of his house. A cold, harrowing quietness that almost _deafens_ him.

He leaves without a single glance back.

...

11:59

Steve stares at the clock on his bedside table. He’s been trying to sleep for a while now, but there’s a tendril of worry wrapped tight around him. Neil’s threatening voice ringing in his ears, the symptoms of Billy’s fear flashing behind his eyes.

12:00

The bell rings, and as though he’s expecting someone, Steve flings his sheets off his body and leaves his room, tiptoes down the stairs.

By the time he’s at the door, he’s positive his bell is broken. “I’m coming! Jesus!” He yells out. He doesn’t bother looking into the peephole and flings the door open with one hand, rubbing the other over his face.

“Did I interrupt your beauty sleep, Harrington?”

Steve has to tighten his grip on the door to ground himself. To hold back from reacting to Billy’s bloodied face. “I hope you have a good reason” he replies, trying for casual.

Billy pulls his cigarette out of his mouth and flicks it to the ground, using the toe of his boot to put it out. Steve manages, with much determination, to ignore the blood staining the cancer stick. He reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulls out a bunch of crumpled dollars.

Then he’s brushing past Steve, pressing the money to his chest. “I’m spending the night” he states.

Steve heaves a breath, steps back and shuts the door. “Do I get a say in this?” He asks, throwing the handful of cash onto the nearest surface.

“I don’t know, Harrington, did I have a say in anything you told pops today?” Billy retorts, looking around the living room with disinterested eyes. “Your folks home?”

“No— they’re outta town” Steve waves a hand, then pulls his hair back with it. “You uh- need anything for that?” He makes circles over his own face.

Billy waves him off, throwing himself on the sofa and lifting his feet onto the table middling the living room.

Steve doesn’t know what to do, so he claps his hands once and steps back. “I’m gonna shower. Kitchen’s _that_ way” he points to the kitchen. “Don’t smoke on the sofa.”

“Too late” Billy says, the unlit cigarette waving between his battered lips as he speaks.

Steve rolls his eyes.

...

_Sleep, Harrington._

He’s staring at the ceiling. Has been for god knows how long. There’s no reason for his being awake at this time. Billy turned out to be just _fine._ Well, save for the busted lip, bloody nose, bruised jaw and black eye.

Steve rolls over to look at the time. 1:32 A.M.

He finds himself downstairs before he knows it.

“Hey, Hargrove! You sleepin’?”

He hears a grunt and some shifting before Billy’s ambling out of the kitchen, a bandage roll and cotton balls in one hand and a bottle of alcohol in the other. “Don’t tell me you’re still rolling around in bed” he muffles around the bandaids he has between his lips. “Couldn’t stop thinking of me?”

Steve rolls his eyes and follows after him. “Where did you get the alcohol?”

Billy nods his chin at a cabinet as he uncorks the bottle and takes a long gulp from it, seating himself on the glass table. He pours the drink onto his knuckles and over the carpeted floor.

“You’re using mom’s Diva Vodka to sanitise your wounds?” Steve asks, incredulous.

Billy doesn’t respond, puts the bottle down with a sniff and tries to use his right hand to bandage the left.

Steve looks at him blandly, watches him struggle just because it’s fun, then he’s walking over to him. He slaps his hand away, takes a hold of the bandage and starts wrapping his other hand up for him. Billy stays silent throughout it, a muscle in his jaw feathering as he looks away.

“What happened?” Steve ventures. He keeps his voice neutral, keeps his eyes on the task at hand.

Billy shrugs. “Got into a fight” he answers. It sounds blasé, like he’s used it as an excuse so many times that it’s always at the tip of his tongue when the question comes up.

Steve nods. “Mmhm” he hums, putting Billy’s hand down. “With your dad?”

“I’m here to sleep, not have a heart-to-heart, Harrington” Billy snaps. His throat bobs, leg beginning to shake as he drums his fingers on his thigh.

Steve looks at him for a moment longer before holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger, coaxing his head up so he can get a better look at the cuts on his face.

When Billy looks right at him, Steve feels heat crawl up the back of his neck and stain his cheeks and tips of his ears. _Damn those eyes._

Billy notices, smirking before tracing his upper teeth with his tongue. He laughs when Steve’s eyes briefly flicker down to his mouth.

“That won’t work on me” Steve says abruptly. “The whole…” he trails off, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m so cool I don’t have feelings thing” he goes on, voice barely above a whisper as he pours some of his mother’s favourite drink onto a cotton ball and brings it up to press it against Billy’s cut brow. He revels in the small hiss Billy lets out, a sliver of emotion that shouldn’t make Steve half as hopeful as he feels.

Billy lifts his scarred brow at him, huffing a mocking laugh. “Y’know, Harrington..” he drawls, leans back with his hands flat on the table. “I feel like you want me to bash your face in.”

Steve doesn’t expect the chuckle he lets out. And by the looks of it, neither does Billy. “Hey, don’t get mean” he says, throws the cotton ball aside and walks off to get an ice pack for Billy’s eye. “And as long as you don’t touch the hair.”

Billy throws his head back with a laugh.

...

2:32 A.M.

Only the sound of crickets is audible over their quiet breathing.

“Billy?”

“What?”

“Uhm— my parents are never home” Steve rasps, words feeling heavy on his tongue. “So if you ever..need a place to sleep…” he trails off, leaving the statement open to Billy’s interpretation.

Over the silence, Steve hears Billy’s breath hitch. “Yeah” he finally says. “Ok.”

...

Steve is confused about plenty of things. The solar system. Logarithms. The life cycle of gymnosperms. Planck’s law.

But most strikingly, he’s confused about Billy Hargrove.

Steve doesn’t exactly have a _type._ He’s fully aware of that given his various flings and romances. He likes blondes, brunettes, redheads. Shy girls, outgoing ones, and mostly, the shameless risqué ones who don’t bother beating around the bush.

One thing all these have in common, is the fact they’re _girls._ He likes _girls._

So _why the fuck is he attracted to Billy Hargrove?_

Billy. Billy’s the embodiment of trouble, with his messy dirty blond hair and striking blue eyes that can easily bring a nation to its knees. He’s a bully. A tyrant. Brutal with his fists and even meaner with his words. A flippant dickhead who would trade his sister for a packet of cigarettes without thinking twice.

Billy broke his nose. Nearly beat him to a pulp, but Steve simply can’t help his intrigue. He knows there’s a more sensible explanation for his shitty behaviour than _Hawkins’ hicks don’t deserve my good side._ And he’ll get through to him. One way or another.


End file.
